


Let's Re-Ass-Tablish This Relationship

by malamyszk



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Ex Sex, It's SeoDo Y'all, M/M, Mirror Sex, Porn with Feelings, Semi-Public Sex, This is Just Rough and Dirty, ex boyfriends, pwp but with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malamyszk/pseuds/malamyszk
Summary: It's been three...maybe four years since he and Geonhak broke up? Seoho doesn't know, he's not good with things like time, but Geonhak is in front of him now and well, now anything could happen.Or: Seodo are exes and get freaky at their friend's bachelor party.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho
Comments: 19
Kudos: 110





	Let's Re-Ass-Tablish This Relationship

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the fic prompt
> 
> "You're the best fuck I ever had."  
> "Me too."  
> "Well why don't we keep doing it."

Geonhak looks hot.

No. He looks beyond hot. He looks _fucking hot._ He looks _goddamn astounding_. He looks so hot that Seoho fans himself, then realizes how idiotic that probably looks, and shoves his hands in his pockets. 

He and Geonhak fucked once. Well. They fucked a lot. They dated for maybe...eighteen days? Seoho didn’t really keep count, but in those eighteen days they fucked pretty regularly - Seoho lost count of that as well, but he had vivid memories. Geonhak’s lips against the back of his neck, Geonhak fucking him on the workout bench in Seoho’s apartment gym, Geonhak whining for Seoho to fuck him _just a little bit harder jesus christ I’m right fucking there._

Their breakup was messy. Less than a month and Geonhak had complained that they fucked more than they talked, and Seoho had said that he was better at fucking than talking, to which Geonhak had said that he was better at fucking than talking too but could they at least try to have an actual relationship, and Seoho had said no. Like an idiot.

So Geonhak had taken all of the things that had, rather quickly, accumulated in Seoho’s apartment - his torn up t-shirts and basketball shorts and boxers and flavored lube and assortment of cockrings and the best smelling body wash that to this day Seoho still fantasized about, and left. And when Seoho had tried to text him, under the guise of letting Geonhak know he’d left his toothbrush, but really to ask if maybe he wanted to try again, Geonhak had blocked his number.

It’s been a while since then. Three years, maybe? Four? Seoho’s not really good at keeping track of things like time and relationships and past fuckups. There’s too much of all of it: time, relationships, and fuckups - that if he started keeping track he’d be bogged down by it all and wouldn’t be able to even cope. So he doesn’t. 

But Geonhak is here. Geonhak is fifteen feet away from him at Youngjo and Hwanwoong’s bachelor party (did it really count as a bachelor party when both grooms were there and spent more time lip locked with each other than taking advantage of their last night of singledom)? Point is, Geonhak is fifteen feet away and if Seoho is honest with himself he hasn’t had a good hookup in probably a long time and his stomach is fluttering like he’s going to throw up - which, god, he hopes he doesn’t do that, and fuck now Geonhak is looking at him. Geonhak locks eyes with him, and for a moment he looks shocked, eyes widening in surprise and mouth dropping open. But the surprise quickly fades. Geonhak looks around like he’s debating an exit route, but then he must change his mind because he locks eyes with Seoho again, runs his hand through his long blond hair, downs his drink, and walks over.

“Hey,” Geonhak says, leaning against the bar in front of Seoho. Seoho aims for casual, but his leg is jumping and he can’t make it stop. Geonhak clocks it, because of course he does, and he places his big hand right on Seoho’s thigh and squeezes hard.

It’s amazing how Geonhak was always able to still his jumping nerves with a touch. It’s amazing how he can still do it.

“Hi,” Seoho says. He clears his throat. Grabs his glass and brings it to his lips. Realizes it’s empty. Puts it back down. Geonhak chuckles, his hand still on Seoho’s thigh, warm enough that it feels like it’s burning Seoho’s skin.

“I didn’t think I was going to see you here.”

“I met you through Hwanwoong,” Seoho points out, and Geonhak shrugs. He finally takes his hand away and Seoho automatically leans forward, missing the touch.

“Yeah,” Geonhak agrees. “But we’ve done a pretty good job of avoiding each other so far.”

Seoho scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip. Geonhak has a point. Over the past three years. Or four years. However many years, Seoho has steadfastly avoided any situation where he might run into Geonhak - game nights and karaoke nights and big birthday bashes. He sees Hwanwoong, and he sees Youngjo, and he sees Dongju and Dongmyeong, and he lives with Keonhee, but he never sees them all together. 

Seoho tells himself it’s because he’s busy, that his job requires nights and weekends and that’s just the sacrifice he has to make. The reality is that he’s a chicken shit. Deep down he knows this. Deep down he knows that he pined for Geonhak _hard_ after he left, and he couldn’t bear the thought of running into him after the guy had blocked his number. 

“I’m sorry,” Seoho says. “I couldn’t not come.”

“Hey, I’m not blaming you.” Geonhak smiles, this sweet, delicate thing that Seoho isn’t used to seeing. “It’s been what, two years? I’m over it.”

“Oh,” Seoho says. “Cool.”

“You look good,” Geonhak says, his eyes trailing down Seoho’s body. Seoho notices, and _why the fuck not_ , he spreads his legs. An invitation. Geonhak raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t comment, but he doesn’t pull away. 

Seoho isn’t dressed properly for this type of event. He’s in skinny jeans and waffle-knit top with a leather jacket that he somehow found on sale. His hair has faded into an orange creamsicle shade, and it’s fluffy with frizz because he towel dried it and then rode his moped without a helmet right afterwards. 

Geonhak is dressed in a suit, dark grey pants that are well fitted and a silky button-up with a deep V. His jacket looks expensive, smells expensive, and his long blonde hair keeps falling into his face. 

“You look good too,” Seoho says, words coming out too fast, and maybe they’re not even the right words in the right order because he realizes he spent too long checking Geonhak out and now he’s forgotten how to talk. It’s just how his brain is sometimes, moving too fast on some things and lingering too long on others. 

“Thanks,” Geonhak says. He clears his throat. Runs his hand through his hair again. Looks out onto the dance floor where Hwanwoong and Youngjo look like they’re trying to figure out the best way to fuck in public without being thrown out. 

“Shameless,” Geonhak says with a chuckle, and Seoho doesn’t know why he does it, but he reaches out and runs his fingers down the center of Geonhak’s chest. The shirt is silky, soft, like the kind of sheets he likes to touch but can never afford. Geonhak’s eyebrows disappear behind his bangs, and Seoho is positive that his ears are turning red. “Uh.”

“We could one-up them, I bet,” Seoho says. “Remember that time I got you off under the table at that company party?”

Geonhak laughs, well, half-laughs half-sputters, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck while his eyes seem to be aimed anywhere but at Seoho. 

“Or that time you blew me at that basketball game?”

Seoho may have lost track of time, but he hasn’t forgotten a single time he’s had sex with Geonhak.

“Seoho -”

“Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Geonhak runs his hand through his hair again. He shrugs. Puts his hand in his pocket. Takes it out.

“No.”

The fluttering in Seoho’s stomach intensifies, transforming into a deep heat that feels like it may consume him from the inside out. 

“Wanna fuck?” 

It’s probably not the best way to ask if Geonhak’s loud, disbelieving laughter, that high-pitched “hah-hah” that simultaneously annoyed and endeared him when they were dating, is anything to go by. He reaches out again, this time hooking his fingers in Geonhak’s belt loops. He spreads his legs wider and tugs, pulling Geonhak into him. Geonhak doesn’t resist; he allows himself to be pulled, rests his big, warm hands on Seoho’s thighs. 

“It was good, right?” Seoho murmurs, looking up through his lashes. Geonhak gives him a look like he’s not impressed, but Seoho sees the way he swallows, sees the way the muscle jumps in his jaw. “When we fucked? It was good.”

“Yeah,” Geonhak says, his voice so low that it almost disappears into the bassline of whatever song is playing. “It was.”

“The best fuck I’ve ever had,” Seoho says, and he means it. Geonhak stares at him for three whole seconds - Seoho counts - before he licks his lips and nods in agreement.

“Me too.”

“So you wanna -”

But he doesn’t finish because Geonhak leans in and kisses him. It’s biting and rough, but it’s like the way they kissed before, lips and tongues moving together with an ease that should only come with time. Geonhak kisses him like he never stopped, like two or three or four years hasn’t passed. Geonhak kisses him like he kissed Seoho yesterday, this morning, five minutes ago. Seoho grips at Geonhak’s shirt and whines, caught between pulling and pressing, between wanting to just let Geonhak take whatever he wants, and wanting to devour Geonhak until he can’t think of anything else - can’t possibly want anyone else.

Geonhak bites his lip before he pulls away, though he still holds onto Seoho’s face and he’s close enough that his breath fans out over Geonhak’s cheeks - whiskey and coke. Seoho almost kisses him again, but he doesn’t know how long this is going to last and he has a condom in his back pocket and a plan to use it. He slides off of the barstool, his chest pressing right against Geonhak’s because Geonhak doesn’t move to give him space, and nips at the underside of Geonhak’s chin.

“Come with me,” he says, side-stepping around Geonhak. He nods towards the bathroom, and when Geonhak hesitates he turns his back on him and just goes. He can’t wait, can’t give Geonhak the chance to get in his head, because if Geonhak gets in his head Seoho is going to end up in a diner some place with a slice of pie that tastes like plastic and hot cocoa that's too sweet, and they’re both going to remember why they broke up and Seoho will be left woefully unfucked. So he walks through the crowd of people to the single stall restroom, a restroom with a lock, a restroom meant for casual sex. If Geonhak doesn’t end up following him, someone else will show up, and Seoho will be disappointed, sure, but at this point he doesn’t really care.

That’s a lie. He does care. He cares a lot. But he’s not going to think about it.

He lets the door swing shut behind him and checks his appearance in the mirror, fixing his smudged lip gloss with his thumb. He doesn’t even finish with his bottom lip before the door opens again and Geonhak steps in, sliding the flimsy lock behind him. Seoho smiles, and it’s far too genuine, far too revealing for what they’re about to do. Geonhak smiles back, that gentle lovely thing that always catches Seoho off-guard, makes his stomach flip and his heart rise into his throat. 

“Hey,” he says, stepping away from the mirror and undoing the top button of his jeans. Geonhak raises his eyebrows. “You come here often?”

Geonhak snorts, but he doesn’t tell Seoho what a _stupid fucking line that was_ , he just wraps a hand around his waist and pulls him in and kisses him. Kisses him like he likes Seoho’s dumb jokes. Kisses him like he likes Seoho.

And Seoho loses himself in it. Loses himself in the way Geonhak still knows that he’s incredibly sensitive behind his right ear. He loses himself in the sensation of Geonhak’s tongue in his mouth and along his skin. Loses himself to the feeling of Geonhak’s fingers somehow finding his nipples through his shirt, pinching and pulling in a way that no one has ever been able to replicate. Seoho groans and tangles his fingers in Geonhak’s hair, tugging as he presses closer.

Geonhak manages to snake his hand into Seoho’s jeans with a concerning ease, rough fingers wrapping around his cock and making him shudder. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Geonhak’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut and just taking a moment to feel the sharp waves of pleasure.

“You’re insatiable,” Geonhak murmurs against his ear, voice a low rumble that Seoho can feel. “Couldn’t even wait for us to get to a more suitable place.”

“We never fucked somewhere suitable,” Seoho gasps out. Geonhak rubs his thumb along the head of his cock, back and forth along the slit, back and forth, agonizing. 

“You’re right.” Geonhak grips him suddenly, tight and a little painful, and Seoho cries out. He’s normally better at containing himself, better about staying quiet when he needs to, good about not revealing too much, but Geonhak’s always been able to take him apart so easily. He scrambles at Geonhak’s slacks, fingers fumbling over the belt, shaking too much for him to be able to get it off. Geonhak releases him and takes a step back. He locks eyes with Seoho and undoes his belt with steady hands, and then goes a step further and undoes his slacks. He steps out of them, and then folds them, careful and neat, on top of the sink.

Seoho drops to his knees, mouth already open and waiting. If Geonhak is surprised he doesn’t show it. Maybe Seoho is out of surprises. Maybe Geonhak already knows everything he is going to do, knows what he wants, what he craves. He grips his dick and rubs it along Seoho’s lips, and Seoho lets him, lets the head of his cock get caught on his bottom lip before it stutter skips across his cheek. Geonhak was always obsessed with his mouth, his fat bottom lip and tight jaw and tendency to smile through everything. 

“Pretty,” Geonhak murmurs, and he heat that has been building in Seoho’s gut explodes. He flushes all the way to the tips of his ears; even his fingertips feel tingly, like they’re on fire.

Seoho hasn’t been called pretty in two...three...four years. 

He grips Geonhak’s thighs, scrapes his nails down in a way that he knows will leave marks. They’ll fade before the night is over, but for now they are stark, bright pink against pale skin. Geonhak grunts and taps the head of his cock against Seoho’s bottom lip.

“You want this?” Geonhak asks, the corner of his lip turning up in a small smile, and if Seoho wasn’t so desperate for it he’d say something snarky back. But he does want it. He’s wanted it ever since he wasn't able to have it anymore. He nods and opens his mouth, tongue darting out and catching the taste of bitter. Geonhak groans and lets his cock rest on Seoho’s tongue.

“Alright,” Geonhak says, and Seoho spreads his lips wider as he slides down. Geonhak’s fingers card through his hair, not gripping, not even guiding, just there. “I’ve missed this too.”

It’s not something he should admit, at least not out loud, because now Seoho is filled with a burning nostalgia. He’s thinking of the last time he had Geonhak’s cock in his mouth: Youngjo’s bathroom, the middle of a Mario Kart tournament, Geonhak sat on the toilet lid and Seoho seeing how long he could edge him before someone noticed they were missing. 

He hollows his cheeks, tongue working the underside of his cock, hands working what he can’t fit in his mouth. He’s drooling too much, spit and cum in between his fingers and dripping down his chin, and it’s loud and messy and his jaw aches in a way that he’s almost forgotten. 

Seoho has a small mouth. He has an active gag reflex. He shouldn’t love giving blowjobs as much as he does. 

Correction: he shouldn’t love blowing Geonhak as much as he does.

There’s just something about the way Geonhak responds: the way he hums and groans and murmurs occasional praise, ‘ _so pretty_ ’ and ‘ _god, so nice_ ’ falling from his mouth with an ease that he doesn’t have any other time. There's something about the way he never forces Seoho to give more than he can, or take more than he can, and the way he seems to love it. Seems to love what Seoho has to offer. Seems to love Seoho. 

“Fuck,” Geonhak grunts. He pushes Seoho’s bangs off of his forehead, and Seoho looks up at him. His eyes are watery, making Geonhak look like a mirage. He vaguely wonders if maybe he’s hallucinating this whole thing. “Fuck, baby. You got a condom?”

Baby is too much, too. It’s all too much. But Seoho doesn’t say that. He pops off, drool connecting him to Geonhak’s cock before it drips down onto his pants. He grabs the condom from his back pocket.

“Please tell me you still have lube in your wallet,” Seoho says, using the sink to pull himself up. His mouth isn’t working properly, words thick and slurred and too fast and clunky and god he wishes he was better at talking. Maybe things wouldn't have fallen apart if he was better at talking.

Geonhak doesn’t comment on his clunky words. He nods and reaches into his jacket pocket, and when Seoho steps out of his pants - he has to kick off one shoe so he can at least get one leg out of his jeans, Geonhak is holding up the small packet with a soft smile. Seoho ignores the flutter in his stomach, ignores his heart in his throat, ignores the way he wants to smile back. He leans over the sink, ass out.

“Great,” he says. “Stick it in.”

Geonhak laughs, the high-pitched giggles echoing in the room, and Seoho hides his own smile in the crook of his arm. 

“So romantic,” Geonhak says. He runs his fingers between Seoho’s cheeks and Seoho jumps. “Gee, I wonder why we broke up.”

“We’re not dating,” Seoho says, even though the words feel wrong, feel mean and nasty. “We’re fucking.” 

“Right,” Geonhak says, and for a heart-stopping moment Geonhak isn’t touching him and Seoho is worried that he’s going to walk out. But instead of the shift of the lock Seoho hears the tear of foil, and his blood pressure spikes so fast he feels dizzy with it. He wants to say something, something nice, something like ‘I’m glad you’re here with me right now’, but he’s never been one for sentimental things like that, so he bites his lip and wiggles his ass. 

“Cute,” Geonhak murmurs, at least Seoho thinks he murmurs it, because he says it while he starts to press in and it’s so tight and it burns and Seoho makes a noise that is too high-pitched, too desperate.

“Fuck,” he groans, gripping the sink. He catches his own gaze in the mirror, and he looks wild. His hair seems to be even frizzier and his eyes are red-rimmed and his lips are bitten raw and his mouth is dropped open and he can’t seem to close it even though drool is gathering in the corner of his lips. 

Geonhak groans, this long, drawn out thing, lasting about as long as the first initial glide into Seoho. Geonhak grips his hips with both hands, fingers flexing. His breathing is ragged, and Seoho loves it. He loves that he’s not the only one completely wrecked by this, loves that he can still make Geonhak breathless. 

Seoho catches Geonhak’s gaze in the mirror, and he rolls his hips, eyes focusing on the way Geonhak bites his lip. Geonhak’s eyes narrow, and he pulls out only enough for him to thrust forward, snapping his hips hard. A noise bursts out of Seoho, something broken, a pathetic little _“oh_ ”, and he can’t even hide it because Geonhak is still watching him in the mirror. Geonhak’s fingers flex again, and he fucks into him hard and fast, fucks into him like he’s got something to prove, fucks into him like he wants to ruin him for anyone else.

Geonhak’s already ruined Seoho, but Seoho will never admit that.

He can’t speak anyway. Everytime Geonhak slams into him it forces a sound out of him, a string of _“oh’s”_ and _“ah’s”_ and other noises that seem even more embarrassing when they echo off the tiles. He’s so loud that he can’t even hear the music from the club; the only bassline he can register is his own heart pounding in his ears, the only percussion Geonhak’s hips slapping against his ass, the only lyrics Geonhak’s low grunts and rough moans. 

“Go-od,” Seoho whines when Geonhak grabs his hair, pulling hard enough that Seoho falls back against him. “Missed this.”

“Yeah,” Geonhak grunts into his ear. “Missed you.”

It’s too much, but Seoho feels the same way so he just chooses to ignore it. He tangles his fingers in Geonhak’s hair, resting his head against Geonhak’s shoulder. He can feel the silky material of Geonhak’s shirt against the back of his neck.

“Want to see you come,” Geonhak says. His teeth latch onto Seoho’s earlobe and he tugs hard enough to make Seoho whine. Seoho watches in the mirror, eyes barely open, watches the vein throb in Geonhak’s neck, watches Geonhak kiss and bite along his neck, watches as one hand moves to wrap around his dick.

He jolts as much from the contact as he does from the sight of Geonhak gripping him. His cock is flushed and red, tip beading precum, and Geonhak’s fist envelops his whole shaft. 

“Are - are you close?” Seoho gasps out. Geonhak’s teeth sink into his neck, sharp and aching. Geonhak sucks the skin hard enough to hurt, hard enough that Seoho’s eyes get wet again, and his dick shamefully jumps in Geonhak’s fist.

“Can never hold on with you,” Geonhak says, his voice barely more than a rumble that Seoho can feel against his back. 

“Good.” Geonhak runs his palm over the head of Seoho’s cock and he spasms. “Me neither.”

When he comes it’s fast and sudden, a sharp wave of pleasure that crests and then immediately turns into oversensitivity. His knees go weak and he can’t stop shaking and every place where his body connects with Geonhak’s feels like it’s on pins and needles, sharp and painful and _too much_ but _so good_.

“Fuck,” he says, repeating it over like a prayer. “Fuck fuck, Geonhak just come fuckin fuck.”

“Love when you’re like this,” Geonhak says, and Seoho can _fucking_ hear the smile in his voice. “Love making you like this.”

Seoho is about to threaten him - honestly he’s about to just collapse on the ground, he’s so shaky - when Geonhak grips him tightly, both arms around his chest, holding him close as he stiffens and groans into his shoulder. 

Seoho doesn’t know how long they stand like that, Seoho shaking in Geonhak’s tight embrace, but it’s long enough for his sweat to start to cool, uncomfortably sticky and too cold on his bare legs. He shivers, sudden and violent, and Geonhak chuckles against his neck. 

“You’re still so sensitive,” he says. “Gonna pull out.”

“Okay - ah, fuck.” Seoho collapses back onto the sink, the sudden loss of Geonhak inside of him and around him too much for his body to handle. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and breathes out through his mouth, willing his body to stop shaking and just...calm down. 

“You good?” Geonhak asks, and Seoho nods even though he feels like if he tries to stand up on his own he’s going to fall over. He feels a tap against his ankle, and when he glances down he sees Geonhak knelt beside him, Seoho’s pants in his hands, prepped and ready for him to step into.

“C’mon,” Geonhak says. “You gotta put your pants back on.”

Seoho rolls his eyes, but he lifts his leg and steps into his jeans. He doesn’t fight when Geonhak helps pull them up. He lets Geonhak button and zip him, only reaching in afterwards so that he can adjust his underwear around his dick. Geonhak grabs his slacks from the sink and steps into them, groaning when he notices the small stain that had been left from Seoho’s cum-stained fingers. 

“You can barely see it,” Seoho whines. “It’s hardly anything.”

“I’ve got your jizz prints on my pants,” Geonhak says, his voice loud and argumentative in a way that's more performative than serious. “These are dry clean only.”

“Wash them in the sink!”

“That’s not how - do you even know what dry cleaning is?”

“I use a washing machine like a normal fucking person.”

“I also use a -” Geonhak cuts himself off, his eyes wide, and for a moment Seoho thinks that maybe Geonhak has broken. Maybe he’s having a stroke, or maybe there’s a glitch in the matrix and his head is about to explode. But then Geonhak smiles. He smiles, and then he laughs, loud and genuine, delighted and _loving_ and it’s so out of place that all Seoho can do is nervously smile back. 

“What?”

“What are we doing?” Geonhak says, still laughing.

“Um. Having sex?”

“No, I mean.” Geonhak shakes his head. “Arguing about laundry.”

“That wasn’t me,” Seoho says. “That was all you.”

“Yeah,” Geonhak says, “I guess.” But he says it in such a way, like he knows something that Seoho doesn’t, that makes Seoho’s skin prickle on the back of his neck. Geonhak pushes his hair out of his face, looks at Seoho, smiles again. 

“I don’t know,” he says, shaking his head. “It just. It reminded me of us, I guess.”

“The fact that we argued a lot?”

“We really didn’t do a lot of anything,” Geonhak says. “Except fuck.”

It shouldn’t sting. It shouldn’t sting because it’s true and that’s the way Seoho had wanted it, but it stings anyway. He flinches and looks away, focusing his gaze on the blackened grout in between the tiles on the ground. He hears Geonhak shuffle around, shifting from one foot to another adjusting his clothes, sniffing every so often because he has allergies but refuses to take allergy medicine. Just like he’s got shit eyesight but refuses to wear glasses. Seoho hates that he knows these things. 

“You wanna come back to my hotel with me?” Geonhak asks suddenly, and when Seoho meets his gaze Geonhak is looking at him with the same open expression that had scared Seoho so much when they were dating. “Maybe we can fuck in a bed? Like normal people.”

Seoho should say no. He knows that he should say no. But he nods, and the way Geonhak smiles at him, slow and lovely, makes his heart pound so hard it aches.

“So...there’s this big thing I gotta do tomorrow,” Seoho says when they’re situated in a taxi, thighs pressed together and hands almost, but not quite, touching. “Big party. Some friends of mine are getting married.”

“Funny,” Geonhak says. “Me too.”

“Maybe...we could do the thing together.”

Geonhak looks at him, lips twitching with a smile that he’s holding back. “Are you asking me out?”

He’s not. He can’t. But he shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says.

Geonhak hums. Takes his hand. Squeezes it twice.

It’s not an answer, but maybe it is.


End file.
